Faith
by Alohaemora
Summary: A story of Hanukkah at Hogwarts. "I'm always going to have faith," Anthony told Padma seriously. "I wouldn't be in the D.A. if I didn't."


25 December 1997

In her six-and-a-half years of being a Hogwarts student, Padma had never seen the castle so empty during the holidays. It was just a few hours earlier that she had returned to the Ravenclaw common room from the Christmas feast—although calling it a 'feast' was a kindness it did not deserve, Padma thought to herself. It was almost laughable to think that, only a year previous, the Great Hall had been filled with laughter and chatter, tinsel and holly, the cannon-like blasts of Wizard Crackers. Every day, it felt more like a fading memory—a bitter old joke.

That evening, apart from the staff table, which had been full, Padma had counted exactly fifteen heads in the Great Hall. And apart from the clinks and scratches of silverware against plates, the hall had been completely silent.

Swallowing, Padma curled into her squashy blue armchair by the common room's fireplace, staring at the flames. Last week, after many tears and hours of arguing, she had managed to convince Parvati to stay in the castle for holidays. The memory of her seventeen-year-old sister sobbing for their parents caused Padma's heart to ache, but she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, shaking the image away. It was in both of their best interests, as well as in the best interests of Dumbledore's Army, that she and Parvati remain at Hogwarts. If they returned home, Padma was absolutely certain that their parents would pack up the family's belongings and whisk them away to Mumbai in a heartbeat. After all, it had taken nearly two months to persuade Papa to allow them to return to Hogwarts in September. And after the disturbing news of Luna's abduction from the platform on Saturday, Padma knew that the D.A. was in no position to lose more members.

Swallowing heavily, Padma drew her knees up to her chest. Parvati hadn't spoken a word to her since their argument. Padma had seen her sister sitting alone at the Gryffindor table at the feast, but she hadn't been able to muster the courage to walk over and wish her a happy Christmas. Though younger by four minutes, Parvati had always been the braver one.

Just then, Padma heard a faint creak from the direction of the dormitory staircases, and she jumped, hastily wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her robes. Peering around her armchair, Padma saw, with a slight jolt, the broad-shouldered, fair-haired outline of Anthony Goldstein climbing down the last few stairs of the boys' dormitory. In his hands, he was holding a large golden menorah.

In spite of herself, Padma felt her expression soften. How could she have forgotten? Anthony always stayed in the castle for the holidays. Why would this year be any different, no matter that they were under the Carrows' thumb or in the midst of a bitter war? How many December nights past had she seen Anthony sitting by the window of the common room, muttering to himself as he lit candles on the windowsill?

When she had finally asked him, in their sixth year, why he always gave Flitwick his name to stay in the castle when neither Terry nor Michael ever did, he had smiled and said something about it being his duty and privilege as a Jew to share his blessings with others during the holidays. Padma hadn't understood him at the time—but then, a week into the New Year, she found him by the common room fireplace with two young, pale-faced Ravenclaw sisters, Bridget and Charlotte Montgomery. He was reading to them from an old leather-bound book of bedtime stories, his voice low and comforting. A few days later, Padma learned that the two girls had lost their little brother over the holidays.

Releasing a slow breath, Padma watched as Anthony settled into his customary chair by Ravenclaw Tower's bay windows and set his menorah on the windowsill. It was more than two years, now, that she and Anthony had been Prefects together, and she still didn't feel like she knew him. Not really, anyway. He had been the first boy she'd ever gone to Hogsmeade with, her first kiss, her first crush. She knew his sisters' names, his favorite color, his best subjects. But she didn't _know_ him. Meanwhile, Anthony could read her—and almost everyone else—like a book.

"Padma?"

Padma jumped. Anthony was staring at her from the window.

"What are you doing up so late?" he asked, frowning.

Padma tried to smile. "Just…thinking."

"Ah," Anthony said simply—and in true Anthony fashion, he didn't press her further. "Care to join me? I'm about to light the menorah."

Padma looked at him for a moment. Then, slowly, she uncrossed her legs and rose from her armchair, walking over to the window.

"How many candles are you lighting today?" she asked him softly, sliding into the chair opposite his.

"Two," Anthony told her, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a small box. Flicking it open, he shook it over his palm and a single waxy candle fell out.

Anthony inserted the candle into the second cavity from the right of the menorah—the rightmost candle was already in place. Then, he reached out and plucked the large, center candle out of its holder. Drawing his wand, he waved it over the large candle, and a tiny flame flickered to life on the wick.

Padma heard Anthony begin to murmur a prayer under his breath. When he finished, he raised the center candle and used it to light the second candle, then the first candle, before tucking it back into its orifice.

The flames swayed slightly, glowing fiercely orange against the dark, gloomy shadow of the window that overlooked the Black Lake. Even as Padma watched, a Dementor floated over the frozen water. She gave an involuntary shiver.

"Why are you and Parvati in the castle for the holidays?" Anthony asked her, as he slid his wand back into his pocket. "You two always go home."

"That's not true," Padma said defensively, bristling. "We stayed last year too."

"Yes, but only because you were worried your mum and dad might pull you out of school if you went home," Anthony said frankly.

Padma blinked at him, slightly openmouthed. Had she told him that? Surely not…

She shook herself. Then, pressing her lips together tightly, she lifted her chin. "Why did _you_ bother staying?" she asked coolly. "Still trying to _share _your_ blessings_, or whatever?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes," he said, without heat.

Padma snorted. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't you think you're going to have much luck this year—not with the Carrows running this place, anyway."

Anthony didn't respond for several moments, gazing straight ahead at the flickering light of the menorah candles. Despite herself, Padma found herself watching him intently.

Finally, Anthony turned and looked at her. "Are you familiar with the Second World War?" he asked quietly.

Padma stared at him. "Is that…is that supposed to be a joke? Of course I am—"

"You'd be surprised," Anthony interrupted evenly, "how many witches and wizards are ignorant of Muggle history—especially when it's so similar to our own."

Padma blinked.

Anthony cleared his throat. "In the early forties, my twenty-six-year-old Jewish American grandfather used a series of illegal Portkeys to smuggle as many Jewish muggles as he could out of Europe and into the States. After they reached New York, he used the Confundus Charm on all of them to convince them they'd made the journey by themselves."

Padma gazed at Anthony, speechless.

"He risked his own life to save hundreds of others," Anthony said in a low voice; his bright blue eyes seemed to blaze in the light from the menorah. "He gave hope to families that never imagined they would feel hope again. His bravery changed history."

"Wow," Padma whispered.

Anthony nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Yeah."

"What happened to him?" Padma breathed.

Anthony shrugged. "He fell in love with one of the refugees—my grandmother—and when the war was over, he moved with her to England and married her. A few years later, they had my dad."

There was a brief silence. Padma stared down at her lap, her mind racing.

Suddenly, there was a rustle of fabric as Anthony rose to his feet. Padma glanced up at him, startled.

"I'm always going to have faith," Anthony told her seriously. "I wouldn't be in the D.A. if I didn't. I'm no Gryffindor, but I'm not a Ravenclaw by accident. I'm smart enough to know that we—all of us—need to be braver than ever right now." He stared at her for another moment. Then, he gave her a small smile. "'Night, Padma."

Tugging his robes straight, he made to walk away—but then, he paused. Reaching down, he took Padma's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and she closed her eyes. A few moments later, she heard the telltale creak of the boys' dormitory stairs, and the common room was silent.

Swallowing heavily, Padma opened her eyes. Her gaze fell on the menorah on the windowsill. For a long while, she watched the dancing flames flicker and flare.

Then, with trembling fingers, she reached into the pocket of her robes and extracted her D.A. galleon. Setting it down on the windowsill next to the menorah, she drew her wand and rapped it on the surface of the fake galleon—and the series of numerals on the edge of the coin shifted and rearranged: _PP1 TO PP2: HAPPY XMAS._

Padma picked the coin up, staring at it. Then, suddenly, it warmed in her hand, and Padma let out a soft gasp as the letters rearranged themselves again. _PP2 TO PP1: YOU TOO._

Padma squeezed the galleon tightly in her palm. Then, for the first time in what felt like years, the corners of her lips lifted into a smile.

* * *

Author's Note:

Not my cheeriest holiday fic, but one that's been on my mind for while. Thanks for reading, and the happiest of holidays to you!

Ari


End file.
